


Catching a Break

by Ladylauralue



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylauralue/pseuds/Ladylauralue
Summary: I do not give permission for this work to be posted anywhere other than Archive of Our Own.SPOILERS FINISH SEASON THREE FIRSTI reject implied canon (idk if they've confirmed it in interviews) b/c I really liked Hopper as a character. So, my brain which is always on, thought of a way that Hopper maybe avoided the kill blast.





	Catching a Break

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my friend, who loves Jim Hopper. Love you, girl!

Hopper groaned as he rolled onto his side. He opened his eyes, blinked, and opened them again. His dreams never got this part quite right. The darkness. But it got the air right.

The air… was murky. Dry but grimy, sticky but thin. He’d had dreams, nightmares really, about the air. Woken up gasping and dragged himself over to the fridge for water and something to calm him down. The cool air… he already missed it. He listened for any sound—well one sound in particular. Like the air, the chittering crawling cacophony of the demodogs haunted him too. His ears were ringing, so at least for a bit he was vulnerable.

As if there was any safe place here.

He tried to rise up onto his knees, tried to crawl away. It wasn’t very effective, but that had been the week so far. Less than? He ran his fingers through his hair, and across his face, scrubbing at his beard. He wanted a cigarette. He had some in his shirt pocket, on…

On the floor of the Russian bunker, with the dead Russians.

Back in Hawkins.

He knew where he was, but now awareness sunk his gut like a lead weight.

The Upside Down.

\\___/

 _The_ _key was roaring with electricity. The pulses at the gate were deafening, the crackling wall of lightning stood between him and some Commies and… Joyce. Joyce was up in the control room, and he couldn’t tell, but he_ knew _there were tears in her eyes. She cried when she was overwhelmed, when she was really frustrated, when she was desolate. He’d seen her desolate, and he hated it._

_He looked around, hoping for_ _any escape, any window of opportunity, but that wall of lightling, the chasm behind him, the gate._

_The Gate._

_It was stupid. It was unlikely._

_It was all he had._

_He saw Joyce face him, and he hoped she was actually looking. He nodded, b/c whether or not this worked, this all had to stop. It all had to be shut down._

_He saw her stretch, but he didn’t see her pull the belt she had stretched. He had already turned to run, was already pushing his legs to the limit, was already jumping towards the glowing fissure, when the bolt of electricity stuttered. His hip hit the wall, but his shoulder slid through, and he tumbled down._

_Down._

_And down._

_And then he_ _landed._


End file.
